Awkward
by ILoveJorja
Summary: Sara has to ask Grissom for a medical leave of absence.  Awkwardness leads to closeness.  Grissom is good man.
1. Chapter 1

**AWKWARD**

**CHAPTER ONE**

It was barely a knock. Three soft raps on the door jamb to his office. Before Grissom raised his head from the files, he knew it was Sara. Catherine would have breezed right in, talking, or barking, depending on her mood, before she even crossed the threshold. Nick or Warrick usually cleared their throats from the hall to get his attention, or said his name. And Greg and Brass usually entered without preamble but with a wisecrack. So it could only be Sara.

Grissom looked up and let his eyes soften as they met hers. No matter how strained things were between them–and that was often–he could always appreciate her casual beauty, especially when she was framed like this in his doorway. There was something about how the light from the hallway lit the gold in her hair...silhouetted those long legs...but he hadn't acknowledged her yet, and Sara was looking uncomfortable.

"Can I, uh, talk to you a second?"

"Sara. Of course. Please, come in."

Finally she did, as always needing his permission first. Her next act surprised him. Sara turned and closed the door and then moved to stand directly in front of him. His team members rarely closed the door, unless instructed to do so. She didn't seem to know what to do with her hands, Grissom realized. Sara Sidle, who could look like she was posing for a portrait as she delicately ate a french fry, was looking decidedly awkward. She crossed and uncrossed her arms and shifted from foot to foot.

"Have a seat," he said, gesturing, and she did. "What can I do for you?"

"I, uh." Sara seemed to rethink a prepared speech. Grissom waited. Maybe she would understand how difficult it was for him to speak to her, unless it was work related, and that sometimes, sometimes he needed her to wait, like this. So he did. Then he tried to make it easier for her to start.

"How's your case coming?"

"Closed it. Um. This isn't about work. Well, it is, sort of." Sara blew out a frustrated breath. _Why is this awkward? Just tell him, Sidle._ "I need a leave of..." she saw his worried look-_Not again! Don't leave. What did I do this time?-_flashed across his face, as legible as a newspaper article to someone who knew Gil Grissom as she did. And she did know him. "A _medical_ leave of absence," she quickly clarified.

"Oh." Relief was quickly followed by concern. "Are you...are you sick?"

"Not exactly. I need surgery."

_Surgery?_

"Oh! That's...is it serious? What's it for, what's wrong? I mean..." Grissom was instantly on his feet, and rounding his desk, before his head caught up with his feet. He perched on the desk and clasped his hands.

Sara grimaced.

"I apologize." Grissom backtracked. "Your medical issues...are private. I just..." _I just what? I just want you to be okay._

"It's fine. As my supervisor, you should know, so you can prepare for someone to cover my shifts." This part sounded rehearsed. Grissom nodded. Sara was always professional, and thinking about the consequences of her absence was part of that.

He looked expectant.

Sara ducked her head. _Ick. Do I need to spell this out?_ "I need a hysterectomy," she told her knees. Somehow it was–slightly–easier to not look at him at that admission.

"I'm sorry," Grissom blurted.

_Sorry?_ "For what?"

"I'm sorry...I'm just sorry that you have to go through this."

_That was nice._ Sara gave him a shy smile at that, and Grissom congratulated himself. For once he'd said the right thing.

"It will be better afterward."

Grissom tilted his head, trying to understand.

"You're a guy, and may not want to know about female problems, but you're also a scientist." She smiled a little wider at his encouraging nod. "I have endometriosis."

"Oh. I understand the surgery then...I've heard that's very painful?"

"It is. Like continuous horrible cramps. But I guess you wouldn't know about that either...yeah, it hurts like hell. All the time."

Grissom looked at her closely. How could he not have noticed she was in pain? There were little lines around her eyes, and a new one that creased her forehead. She looked drawn. And pale. _I'm a dope. An oblivious dope._

"Of course. I mean, take as much time as you need." Grissom reached around to get his calendar. "When do you go under the knife?"

"Tomorrow. 8 AM."

"Tomorrow? That's, uh, soon."

"Yeah," Sara breathed. "I just came from the doctor. He said it was urgent."

"Oh," Grissom said again. He seemed to have trouble keeping up. "Do you need anything?"

She flashed a quick smile. "Just to sign the paperwork, I guess."

Grissom nodded, then started rooting around for the right form. Sara smirked at him. Everyone, especially Catherine, knew the filing system better than he did. She found the form and handed it to him. Grissom returned to his seat and started filling it out. Sara watched him.

"How long? Will you be away?" he asked, scribbling information. _I'll miss you._

"I'll be home from the hospital tomorrow afternoon. Then, two weeks to recuperate. But I'll probably be back to work before that. As soon as I get bored."

"You'll stay home as long as you should. Doctor's orders," he told her, teasing a little.

"The doctor won't know."

"I'm a doctor too."

"A bug doctor! I'm not a bug." She teased back. They smirked at each other.

He pushed the paper across the desk to her, and she scrawled her spidery signature and dated it. Grissom dropped it in his Out box and stood as she did.

"Sara?" She glanced back at him. "Do you need...anything else?"

"No. Thanks."

"A ride to the hospital?"

"I was going to take a taxi."

Grissom frowned. "I'll pick you up at 7," he said firmly.

"Grissom..."

"No arguments. Please."

"Well, okay."

"See you then."

"Bye, Sara."

"Bye, Grissom. See you at 7." Another pretty smile, and then she was out the door. Grissom sat, bemused, and looked at the space where she had been moments before.

**TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

Hurt/Comfort/Romance. Rated M. GSR–because, really, is there anything else? GSR is the heart of CSI.

**AWKWARD**

**CHAPTER TWO**

Sara was still toweling her hair when the doorbell rang. Automatically, she looked at the clock. _He's 25 minutes early. Hmm_.

She swung open the door. "Hey Gris. Come on in."

Sara looked him over. Grissom was wearing jeans. _Hot damn. The man does fill out a pair of jeans!_

If he noticed her checking him out (he did) Grissom didn't let it show in his face. Sara tore her eyes away from the perfect roundness of his butt cheeks and that enticing, um, bulge.

"You're early?"

He seemed embarrassed. "Uh. I overestimated how long it took to get here. I've only been here the once..." They both lowered their eyes. He'd only been here once to get an explanation for Sara's anger, and the story of that had been harrowing both to tell and to hear.

_He held my hand_. Sara remembered, and somehow he knew what she was thinking by looking in her eyes. Grissom acknowledged her silent thanks with a tiny nod.

"I'm glad you are early, actually," Sara went on. "I know I don't eat much," Grissom looked amused. "but being told I can't eat or drink anything for 12 hours is _maddening_."

"I know what you mean. When I had my sur..." _Oops._ The big bad secret.

"When you had surgery on your hearing?" Sara asked smoothly. She shrugged at his look of surprise. "You told Catherine. Think the cat wouldn't be out of the bag?"

He chuckled. Catherine was a lot of things, but a good secret keeper, she was not.

"Plus you were gone for more than a week. She had to tell us something. And you came back with the beard. Which is very nice, by the way."

"Oh. Thanks." _Sara likes my beard._ "Sorry I didn't..."

"Tell me? Yeah. You didn't." She couldn't help some tartness in her reply. She drummed her fingers on the kitchen counter waiting for an explanation. Grissom gaped at her.

"Never mind. Let's go."

"No!" he said, too loudly. Sara flinched. He reached over and stilled her fingers, then pulled back. "Sorry. I should...I owe you an explanation."

"Gris, it's okay."

"I want to. It was...it was a stupid male ego thing."

Sara's eyes widened.

"It...when my hearing was failing, I wasn't dealing with it well. In fact I wasn't dealing with it at all. And when I did, think about it I mean, I was afraid of losing my job...my career...my self worth...and...you."

"Losing...me? Why would you lose me, if you went deaf?"

Grissom winced. "That was the ego talking. You're already out of my league. And as a deaf, unemployed, repressed...geek...I thought you..."

"You thought I'd give up on you?" Sara was genuinely shocked. "Do you really think I'm that shallow?"

Grissom thought hard. "No. Not exactly...no!" he said hurriedly, at her frown. "You're not shallow, Sara. I just felt...damaged."

"Now you know how I feel," Sara said softly. She touched his hand, which was still resting on the counter across from her. His fingers curled around hers, surprising them both. He stared at their hands. Hers–slim and pale, with long fingers. His–broad and big and a darker shade.

"I haven't given up on you yet, Gris." Her voice was almost...tender? Their eyes met in understanding. With this topic finally aired, a door seemed to open. Their gaze lengthened as more emotions flickered by. Hope, comfort, understanding, desire...

"I'm out of your league?" her soft voice held disbelief.

Grissom tilted his head and looked at her as if it should be obvious. "_Way_ out of my league."

"Funny. I always thought the same thing." He quirked an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. Just looked into those warm brown eyes.

Sara's stomach rumbled. Loudly.

She laughed. "Guess we should go. Get this over with."

"Yeah." Grissom tugged her hand, pulling her around the kitchen island until she stood just in front of him. "Thanks, Sara."

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me."

"What can I say," Sara shrugged. "You're...you're important. To me."

"Me too. C'mon." Grissom tugged her out the door, only releasing her hand to let her lock up.

Once they were settled in his car, Grissom glanced over at her. She looked pensive.

"Sara?"

"Hm?"

"Do you regret–I mean, are you sorry? That you won't have kids?"

"No," she said easily. "I've never wanted children. And given my family history...of violence, addictions, and mental illness, any kid of mine would have a good chance of being screwed up."

"Any child of yours would be both brilliant and beautiful," Grissom blurted out, again surprising them both. "But I know what you mean. I never really pictured children in my life either."

They pulled up at the hospital entrance.

"Thanks for the ride."

"What time should I pick you up?"

"You don't have to..."

"Sara."

"I should be in recovery by noon."

"I'll come find you."

"Okay." She looked at him again. He really was sweet, sometimes. On an impulse, Sara leaned over and gave him a little kiss on the cheek. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." He blushed a bit. "Get going, Sidle," Grissom said, trying to sound stern.

"I'm pretty sure they won't start without me." She slid from her seat and strode through the double doors without looking back.

**TBC**

A/N: What a nice reception to Chapter One. Some of your reviews make me laugh, some make me go Awwww, and all of them warm my heart. Please, keep it up. I notice that there just as many Story Alerts as there are reviews, which is encouraging. I'll do my best to update this more often than my usual track record!


	3. Chapter 3

Hurt/Comfort/Romance. Rated M. GSR–because, really, is there anything else? GSR is the heart of CSI.

**AWKWARD**

**CHAPTER THREE**

Once inside, Sara was whisked off to pre-op. The speed might have been alarming, if she had stopped to think about it. A nurse led her to a locker room, gave her a gown, and told her to strip and put all her things in a locker. She was given a key on a stretchy band to wear on her wrist. They'd had some valuables go missing lately, the nurse told Sara.

"It's a shame, to take advantage of someone at such a vulnerable time," she added. Sara agreed with a nod. The nurse bustled off and Sara changed and then waited. The gown was made for a short fat woman and as a tall slender one it was barely decent. So she was grateful to be given a thin robe and socks as well before walking down the public hallway.

Then it was a quick interview with her blood pressure, pulse, and temperature taken and her medical history reviewed. An ID badge was attached to her other wrist. Next, Sara was taken to the operating room, which was large and very dark and dank and kind of creepy. She took off the robe and gown and crawled naked under a thin white sheet, under the spotlights. The surgeon and anesthetist introduced themselves and explained briefly what was to happen.

Already feeling exposed with this small crowd of masked strangers about to see her naked body, the feeling of vulnerability intensified when Sara's arms were straightened out and placed as if she were to be crucified. There was the cold wipe and pinch of a needle in the hollow of her elbow. Something warm and relaxing flowed into her blood. A mask was placed over her mouth and nose. The surgeon told her to count backwards from 100. Sara didn't even make it to 90 before everything went dark.

A minute passed, it seemed, and then she was lying on a gurney in a green-walled hallway, with someone saying her name. An excruciating pain accompanied her return to consciousness. She wished she could be knocked out again. Groggy, Sara opened her eyes and was told the surgery went well, and they were going to take her up to a room to recover for a few hours. Sara was just able to nod before she dozed off again. The feeling of moving–head first and flat on her back-roused her again. Then she was shifting carefully into a bed by the window. Sara looked out and reflected how rare it was for her to see daylight.

There was a rustle of clothing and movement to her right. Sara rolled her head over, expecting to see yet another nurse, and so was touched and pleased to see Grissom sitting there instead.

"Hi." Sara beamed at him.

"Hey." Grissom gave her a shy smile in return.

"I wasn't expecting to see you yet. Or at my bedside."

"I wanted to be here when you woke up."

"That's sweet." Sara rolled over to face him, and cried out, "Oh!"

"What? What's wrong?" Grissom said worriedly.

"I, my guts shifted. Very weird feeling. I guess there's a void in there now." Sara held her stomach carefully.

"How are you feeling?"

"Ugh. Like a fish that's just been gutted. Hurts."

Grissom fumbled around for the call button and pressed it without another word.

"Can she have something for the pain?" he asked plaintively, when the nurse appeared.

"I'll check, but I think so." She hurried out again.

"Thanks." Sara's voice was soft, as were her eyes.

"Anytime." He looked like he wanted to say something else, but the nurse returned, stuck a needle in her IV, and pushed the plunger. She patted Sara's hand, said something reassuring, and left.

Within minutes a feeling of blessed relief and a mild euphoria filled her body.

"Mmm," Sara moaned. "Much better." She looked into Grissom's eyes and gave him a grateful dopey smile. That didn't seem enough, so she reached for his hand. Grissom took hers and squeezed. She peered and blinked at him sleepily. _She's so adorable._

"Go ahead and rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Sara fell asleep with Grissom still holding her hand.

When she woke up next, the sun had shifted. A dull pain throbbed through her body and the sharp pain in her abdomen had returned. She rolled her head around, feeling aggravated. Her breath caught when she looked to her right again. There was Grissom, his head down on her bed, eyes closed, lips parted, his breathing regular, and both hands curled on either side of his handsome head. Sara took advantage of the rare opportunity–she'd never seen him asleep, she realized–to study his features. The straight well-formed nose. Perfect lips, slightly rounded. Dark eyelashes framing those large expressive eyes, closed for once. Strong jaw, and that cleft, that distinctive cleft, in the exact center of his chin. Sara raised her hand, wanting to touch, to explore his face, to feel just how soft his skin really was, but hesitated. _Poor guy. He must be tired. It's the middle of the night for us._

There was a clatter of metal from the hallway. Lunch time. Grissom shifted, groaned a little, and raised his head. He blinked at her a moment before remembering where he was.

"Hey, guess I dozed off too. How are you?"

"You must be tired. Did you sleep at all after last shift?"

"Uh." He looked at his watch. "Just now. About three hours." Grissom rubbed his neck.

"Stiff neck?"

"No."

"Turn around."

"Sara. You're the one who just had surgery. I'm fine."

Sara shot him a look. She fumbled for the control and brought the bed up to a sitting position. Again she had to grip her belly. This time it felt like her innards were about to spill out into her lap.

Sara twirled her finger at her boss. "Humor me."

Grissom sighed and turned his chair away from the stubborn woman in the hospital bed. The next moment his protests fled, as strong fingers were massaging his aching neck, working up and down, then scratching his scalp lightly. A pleasant shiver ran up to his hairline and back. Grissom let out a low moan of pleasure. Sara rubbed his temples and then ran her fingers through his curly graying hair.

"Soft," she murmured. "Always wondered." Then she was working down his cervical spine again, and Grissom forgot how to talk, for the sheer pleasure of it. She was just starting to work on the kinks in his shoulders when a tall man in scrubs strode into the room. Sara pushed away and folded her hands in her lap. Grissom opened his eyes to protest when he too spotted the doctor. He straightened up as well and looked expectant.

"Miss Sidle?" He picked up the chart from the foot of the bed and glanced at it. "Looks good. You can go home whenever you like. Any questions?"

"How did the surgery go?" Grissom asked.

"Fine, fine. No complications. Oh, we removed your appendix too."

"My appendix?"

"While we were in there, thought we'd nab that little sucker too." He seemed to think this a good joke. "You'll have a scar, of course, but I made the incision along your bikini line."

"How long will she need to be off work?"

"Six weeks."

"Six? You told me _two_, Sara."

"Oh. Did I?" she tried to look innocent.

"Two?" the doctor looked amused. "Not a chance. This is pretty major surgery, Miss Sidle. Believe me, you won't be ready to go anywhere for six weeks."

"Six weeks." Sara pouted, sounding as if it was a jail sentence. "I'll lose my mind."

"No you won't. Thank you, doctor," Grissom said, and the man left. "C'mon. Let's get you home."

Sara threw the sheets aside and bent her knees to the side, grimacing and still clutching her belly. Grissom had a good look at those famous Sidle legs, then forced himself to concentrate on guiding her hands to the side of the bed. Sara pushed off and slid her slipper-clad feet to the ground, trying to stand in a single motion. A wave of dizziness had her pitching forward into Grissom's grasp.

"Whoa, whoa. No rush. Sit there a second. Let your head clear, woman." Grissom pushed her back to a seat. He kept her there with a hand to her shoulder. "Have a drink of water."

Sara drank down half the glass.

"Clothes. Where are my clothes?" He handed her the plastic bag from her locker. "Oh." Sara pulled them out across the blanket. "Guess I'll go in the bathroom to change."

"That's okay. I'll give you a minute." Grissom stood, stepped away, and whisked the curtain closed. Sara smiled at his waiting feet and slowly got dressed. It was kind of nice to have him take care of her.

**TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

**AWKWARD**

**CHAPTER FOUR**

Sara made a fumbling attempt to dress. With a struggle, she got her bra and underwear on. She then tugged her T-shirt over her head, but bit her lip when she tried to pull on her jeans. There was a sharp pain along her incision. Involuntarily, she whimpered. She stilled and tried to will the pain to subside, but it felt like a knife. A sob escaped.

"Sara?" Grissom's worried voice came through the curtain. "Are you all right? Can I come in?"

"Umm."

Grissom took that as a yes, and hurried through, letting the curtain close behind him. Sara was grimacing with pain. Tears were brimming in her eyes. Her pants were only to her knees and she was gripping them with white-knuckled intensity.

"What is it?" Grissom intentionally looked at her face and away from the state of her clothing. "Sara? Tell me."

"I think..." She felt down around the lap pads across her lower abdomen and peeled away one side. Blood oozed along the incision.

"I tore some stitches." Sara lay back, frustrated.

Grissom awkwardly tugged the sheet up around her hips. The red incision was too close to her pubic hair. He wanted to but didn't want to look.

"I'll call the nurse." He pressed the call button and looked at her with a worried expression. _This can't be right. What's the big hurry to leave, anyway?_

"Gris. Uh." Sara looked away and then back again, hating to ask for help. "Can you, uh, tug my pants back off?"

He blushed to his ears, but obeyed. Grissom pulled them off from the cuffs, trying but failing not to notice her plain white panties and bra and long naked legs. As quickly as possible, Grissom pulled the sheet back up to cover her body, then the blanket as well.

"Guess you didn't imagine." At his questioning look, Sara continued. "This was how... the first time you undressed me."

Grissom pursed his lips, blushing even deeper, and couldn't come up with a response. Sara felt a bit of relief to shift her embarrassment to him, and smirked.

A nurse, a different one, came in the hospital room at last.

"Ms. Sidle tore her stitches," Grissom said accusingly. "I don't see why she's being sent home so soon after major surgery."

The nurse examined the wound but had no chance to comment. Grissom went on and on, venting his fear and worry in an angry rant over Sara' treatment and the hospital policies and procedures and the medical system as a whole...

"Grissom."

"I don't see why she can't heal up here for another day at least, it's just common sense, at least to have the stitches take hold. What kind of hospital is this? Hospitals are places to heal, not revolving doors..."

"Grissom!"

"Not to mention she's a public servant, a member of the law enforcement community. She..."

"GRISSOM!" The loud yell from the patient finally stopped his tirade. "_She_ is sitting right here, and _she _would appreciate it if you stopped talking for a second."

He did.

"Look, he's right," she sighed heavily. "I'm not ready to go home. Could I...could we talk to the surgeon again?"

"I'll page him. It may take awhile. I heard one of the other nurses say he was scrubbing for surgery." The nurse glared at the two of them and then stalked out with a huff.

Sara pressed the lap pads firmly against her incision and retaped it. She pulled up the bedcovers and sighed, looking away.

Grissom felt tongue-tied again. He was a little ashamed of his outburst, it being very unlike him. But this was _Sara._ Sara was in _pain_. Sara, who never complained, who barely acknowledged hurt or discomfort or fatigue. It must be bad, very bad indeed, to bring tears to her eyes and to make her admit she wasn't ready to leave the hospital. He looked at her, gauging her state of mind, and willing her to look back. Sara was twisting the edge of the blanket.

"I...I'm sorry," he said at last. Sara glanced at him quickly and then away. "I just don't like to see you in pain."

She acknowledged this with a nod and a brief grateful smile but still didn't meet his eyes.

"It's okay, Grissom. You don't have to wait around. Go...get some rest, go get something to eat. Go to work. I'm fine." He protested, she was firm, he protested some more, she got frustrated. Finally he relented, but only when she asked him to get her some things from her apartment. Sara gave him her keys and rattled off a list of items. Grissom listened, memorizing. Then he patted her hand awkwardly and left without another word.

Sara watched him retreat and then looked out the doorway, deep in thought. This was a very different side of Grissom. Protective, concerned, thoughtful...dared she hope this meant he did have feelings for her? Or was it just pity? She lay back down and closed her eyes.

Grissom unlocked Sara's door and gingerly stepped inside. The atmosphere was very different without her around. He chided himself when he realized he was beginning to process it as if her place were a crime scene, but couldn't resist a little snooping around. After all, she asked for comfortable clothes, and the clothes were in her bedroom, right? And Sara's bedroom was...the inner sanctum. The setting for a thousand dreams. At the door, he hesitated. _Should I call Catherine instead? No. I'm here. And she asked_ me.

So here he was, and damn he wished he wasn't alone in there. The dark-walled room was warm and inviting. The light switch lit one small lamp on the bedside table. Blackout curtains kept it otherwise in darkness. The big bed was neatly made, pillows fluffed, rug straight. There was a hamper of dirty laundry at the foot of the bed, but otherwise Sara's bedroom was as neat as a pin.

Only one framed photograph was on the wall, right next to the mirror atop her dresser. Grissom walked to it. It was the one of the two of them, that distant day traipsing around San Francisco, with the Golden Gate Bridge in the background. He looked younger, thinner, with dark hair, and she...she was so young and vibrant. Big smile. Beautiful. He stared at the photo of two of them, looking so carefree and happy. Sara had gotten hers enlarged and framed. Grissom had the same one, but it was just stuck on his fridge with a spider magnet. _This must mean a lot to her. She looks at it every day, as she's getting dressed_, he mused. Catching sight of his wistful smile in the mirror, Grissom shook his head and opened drawers, gathering Sara's wish list.

**TBC**


	5. Chapter 5

**AWKWARD**

**CHAPTER FIVE**

After some negotiation with Sara's doctor and surgeon, she was allowed to spend one more night and morning at the hospital. The doctor sealed up her popped stitches with surgical glue, while commenting, "You don't have much give, with your skin. It's stretched tight, so it's actually a disadvantage to be slender like you in this case." Sara nodded thoughtfully.

The nursing staff acted like they were doing her a big favor, and largely ignored her. Fortunately there was a night nurse who was kind. She made sure Sara's morphine dose was given on schedule and that she had everything she needed. Grissom had returned briefly with Sara's stuff, and he helped to get her into her most comfortable soft cotton shorts and a sweatshirt. Sara couldn't seem to get warm with just a thin hospital gown and sheet and light blanket.

Grissom awkwardly held out each article of clothing–including a pair of warm socks–with his eyes averted as she changed. Once dressed, she removed her bra with her shirt on and dragged it out through a sleeve, Grissom watching with fascination. Sara thought him as cute as a bug but didn't comment. Soon he had to leave for work. He gave her hand a squeeze and mumbled something like 'Get well soon, Sara,' then hurried out with her gap-toothed smile and bright brown eyes in his mind.

He was uncharacteristically distracted all night, thinking about Sara alone in the hospital. Sara spent much of her time thinking about him too. It was too noisy to sleep. Patients yelling and calling for the nurses, footsteps and conversations, and when she did finally drop off she was awakened with a glaring light for a wound check, and then again to have her blood pressure and temperature taken.

The night was endless and very uncomfortable. Sara still hadn't eaten a bite of food since the morning before her surgery, and though she had an IV of fluids and nutrients it wasn't the same. So she daydreamed about what her first meal at home would be.

At 6 AM, an orderly arrived and asked if she wanted breakfast. He handed her a menu when she eagerly agreed.

"Scrambled eggs, hash browns, and toast, please. Apple juice. Coffee."

He marked it down and left. Sara tried to read a magazine or watch TV but felt too irritable and unable to concentrate. The nice nurse had left and her pain meds had worn off.

At last he food cart arrived. At least it was a distraction. But the coffee was tepid and bitter, the eggs runny, the potatoes greasy, and the toast dry. Only the apple juice was acceptable. She had just pushed it away, disgusted, when Greg arrived. Sara's face lit up.

"Hi Sara!" He grinned at her.

"Greg!"

"How you feeling, Pooh Bear?" He thrust a stuffed teddy bear at her and tied a balloon to the bed.

"Better, to see you."

"Good. Anyone else been in?"

"Grissom dropped me off. And he was here for a while when I got out of surgery."

"Hmm," Greg said, an eyebrow raised suggestively.

"What."

"That seems kind of...nice. For Grissom."

"It was nice. Stop it."

"What?" he said with exaggerated innocence.

"Stop making it sound like more." Sara examined the fuzzy brown bear. It had a big bandaid on its belly. She chuckled, and then winced in pain. It hurt to laugh. "Hey, Greg?"

"Yes, Sara?"

"Can you do me a favor?"

"Anything for you, my queen," he said with a flourish, making her laugh again.

"Can you find a nurse? I need a dose of pain medicine."

"Consider it done." He vanished and then quickly reappeared, joking and flirting with the nurse, who was old enough to be his mother. Greg got the two women smiling. He kept Sara company all morning, going with no sleep without complaint.

Grissom could hear them joking from the hallway and smiled. Sara glanced up when he came in the room and her face brightened. She looked kind of small and young and vulnerable in that bed, with an IV still in her arm, and he felt an overwhelming urge to give her a little reassuring kiss. _Yeah. In front of Greg, too. Dream on, big guy._ Instead he greeted Greg, looked over at the Get Well Soon balloon and the teddy bear and wished he'd brought something too. Flowers, maybe. _But she's on her way home_, he reminded himself.

"How are you feeling, Sara?"

"Better than yesterday. A lot, thanks. Ready to go home, in fact."

"Good. Good." He shuffled his feet. Greg was in the only chair.

The two men helped Sara get through the discharge procedure and wheeled her out to Grissom's SUV. Greg pushed the balloon in the back seat where it bounced on the ceiling. He gave her a careful hug and a big smacking kiss on the cheek and drove away, leaving Sara grinning. Grissom wished for the umpteenth time that he could be so casually affectionate with her.

They drove through heavy morning traffic to the drugstore to fill Sara's prescriptions. It was hot. Sara was regretting that gross hospital breakfast more and more as the car lurched forward and stopped. When he pulled into the parking lot she jumped out and was sick in the bushes. Grissom hurried around to her and put a warm hand on her back.

"Don't," she muttered, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. She kicked dirt over the puke, wincing at the pain.

"What?" he asked, confused.

"Don't...ugh. This is embarrassing."

"No, don't be embarrassed. It's normal to be nauseous after anesthesia." He helped her back into the passenger seat. Sara laid her head back and closed her eyes. Grissom reappeared in the driver's seat with a bagful of items. He gave her a bottle of water, and she rinsed her mouth out and drank some. He gave her some antacids and breath mints and a timid smile.

Sara squeezed his hand and he held on to it.

"We seem to be doing this a lot lately."

"What?"

"Holding hands."

"Yeah." He looked at their hands. "Is that...a bad thing?"

"No. No, Gris, it's a very good thing."

Grissom pursed his lips at her and released her hand to drive.

**TBC**

**A/N:** Thanks for reading. I love your reviews. If you have a moment, please read the new chapters on my On Broken Wings story too? My collaboration with rage edit. I know it's been forever since we started it, but I'm trying...and rage edit and I are collaborating on another story, called Accidents Happen. That one is under his name. We both would really like to get some reviews, to know if we should continue. He wrote Chapters 1 and 3 and I wrote the second one. Chapter 4 (mine again) should be done soon. Thanks. You guys are great.


	6. Chapter 6

**AWKWARD**

**CHAPTER SIX**

So Grissom took her home. He set her up with a kind of a nest on the couch. A blanket, an extra sweater, a bottle of water, a bag of pretzels, her pills, some magazines, and the TV and stereo remotes. He shook out a Vicodin and watched as she swallowed it. He kept jumping up to get something else until Sara told him to cut it out. So Grissom adjusted the air conditioning, took her bag into the bathroom, set out her toiletries and came back out.

Sara offered to fix them both a cup of tea but he insisted on doing it, rummaging around in her kitchen cabinets like he was searching for buried treasure. She watched in amusement.

"Sara?" Grissom sounded frustrated.

"Tea is in the tin on the counter. Sugar's above the stove. Milk–check to see if it's fresh–is in a small carton on the top shelf. Spoons are in the drawer next to the fridge. There's also a tray in with the pots and pans."

"Oh." There was some more banging and clanging and rustling noises. When the teakettle whistled he had everything ready. Sara shoved her journals and magazines aside to make a space on the coffee table. They poured their tea, sweetened it, and sipped it in a silence that threatened to become awkward, shooting little glances at each other. Sara aimed the remote at her stereo and turned the CD player on Random. Sara McLaughlin's soaring voice eased some of the tension.

"Would you like anything else? Something to eat maybe? Soup?"

"No, thank you, Gris. I'm all set."

"Oh." He sounded a little disappointed. Before he could say anything else, his pager buzzed. Grissom muttered a curse and fished it off his belt.

"It's Brass." His cell phone rang.

"Grissom. Yeah. How many?" He started to dig through his pockets. Sara produced a note pad and a pen seemingly from thin air. He smiled at her with his eyes.

"OK. Where is it?" Grissom jotted some hurried notes and finished his conversation with a snap of the phone. He looked at Sara apologetically.

"I have to go. Sorry."

She smirked at him. "Have we met? I'm familiar with this scenario."

"I know, I just...I'd rather be here with you."

"Oh." She was surprised and touched. "That's really...sweet. But, go, really. I'm fine." She flashed a brilliant smile and he returned a bashful one of his own.

He stood and got his things together. "I'll, uh, stop by later? On my way home from work?"

Sara's smile widened even more. "I'd like that, Gris. Thank you."

"Okay."

"Okay."

Grissom hesitated. He glanced from her smiling face to her folded hands to her tousled hair to her sock-clad feet to her hopeful eyes and then seemed to make a big decision. He leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. They both blushed.

"Bye, Sara."

"Bye, Gris."

He smiled at her again, checked his pockets, muttered something to himself, fished out his keys and opened the door. Halfway out he looked back at Sara.

"See you later."

"See you. Be careful."

"I will." Grissom waved his fingers at her and she waggled hers in return, with a soft giggle. The door closed. Sara sighed to herself with a secret smile.

Nine hours later, Grissom knocked lightly on her door and then waited. He could hear the TV on inside but no footsteps. He knocked again, then turned the handle, feeling angry with himself for leaving Sara's door unlocked. Cautiously, he went inside.

Sara was asleep on the couch but looked uncomfortable. She had kicked off the blankets at some point. Some of the magazines were scattered and the water bottle was on its side on the floor in a small puddle on the rug. The TV was flickering in the darkness, volume on too high, with an infomercial playing. Sara's face was half buried in the scratchy pillow and she was grimacing.

Grissom stepped closer. He picked up the scattered items, put the dishes and water bottle in the kitchen, mopped up the water with a dish towel, all the time trying to be very quiet. Grissom covered Sara again with the blanket and looked at her with a gentle expression. He rummaged around until he found the remote and turned off the television. The quiet woke her up. She shot up when she saw a dark figure standing over her.

"Get out! I have a gun!"

"Sara! It's me, it's just me, it's Grissom..." he said soothingly as he knelt in front of the couch and stretched out a hesitant hand.

"God, you scared me. And crap, that hurt." She felt her incision carefully.

Grissom withdrew his hand. "I'm really sorry."

She squinted at him. "How did you get in here?"

"I accidentally...I left your door unlocked, I'm so sorry."

"Is it locked now?" Sara was still breathing hard.

"Uh." He stood up and checked. The sound of the tumblers moving seemed loud. "It is now."

"Don't ever..."

"I won't, I promise," he finished for her. "How about, uh, I get you to bed?"

"Huh. Took you long enough to say that."

He could see her smirk in the dimness and chuckled.

"Touché."

**TBC**


	7. Chapter 7

**AWKWARD**

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

The days slid by. Grissom couldn't always get away from work to see her, but he called every day. Usually more than once too. And he always called Sara just before he set out, so she could open the door for him. He usually brought something, groceries or simple necessities or takeout. She insisted on paying him back and sometimes he didn't think it worth fighting over. Once Grissom brought a bouquet of yellow roses, but she thanked him so many times that they both became tongue-tied with embarrassment. So he didn't dare do that again.

It could be any time of the day or night when he was able to visit, but she assured him she didn't mind being woken up.

"I don't want to disturb you," Grissom said.

"What disturb? I've got nothing to do but sleep."

"If you're sure..."

"I'm sure. I love..." Sara's face got pink at her choice of words.

"What?"

"I love having you visit me. It's the highlight..." she trailed off, blushing furiously.

"Mine too," he said, also pinkening, and they grinned at each other shyly.

And it was, Grissom mused, as he signed forms or did something equally mindless like sit through surveillance video. It was the highlight of his day, visiting Sara. He was never bored in her company, even if they did nothing more exciting than watch TV or do crossword puzzles together. She had such a quick mind. And a quick wit, and a warm heart. Not to mention easy on the eyes. Very easy! When she said she needed something to occupy her mind, he brought a case file along, watched with pride as she pored over it, asked a few insightful questions, and bounced ideas with him. Sometimes she even gave them a new lead to chase.

Sara was fun to hang around with, he realized. Good company. He'd never, in all the years they'd known each other, done much of this before. It was always work. She could be funny or silly or somber, even sad at times, but never boring. They could just be, together, without nervous small talk. Or Sara could lead the conversation away from his cares or listen carefully to what was on his mind. Whatever, it seemed, he needed. Or more. Every time he left her apartment, Grissom's mind hummed with all the things he wanted to tell Sara. So he would call her when he got home too. The conversations were about anything and everything. He just liked hearing her voice before he went to sleep.

One afternoon he vented about Catherine, how she never listened to his instructions if her mind was made up to do something else.

"Do you remember when Eddie was brought in for rape?"

"Vaguely," Sara said encouragingly. "What happened?"

"I told her five times to hand off the case. Five explicit times! And what does she do? Lie to my face and say she did, and that Warrick was working it. If Eddie had been charged..."

"The case would have been thrown out of court," Sara finished. "Conflict of interest."

"Exactly." Grissom agreed. "I never have to worry like that with you. You probably have the best grasp of the ethics involved in every case...of anyone in the lab. Your work is always above reproach."

"Thank you," Sara told him, touched. She couldn't resist asking, "Even when I get too emotionally involved?"

"Ah, that's not always a bad thing. If you weren't so passionate, a lot of these cases wouldn't get solved. The most important thing is I can trust you to do the right thing." Sara nodded, filing away one of his rare compliments.

As he drove home to sleep that morning, Grissom realized he had no one else to talk to about this supervisory shit. The human element was at times his least favorite part of the job. He always had to be conscious of the feelings of the team, whether they would feel slighted or resentful with their assignments or amount of supervision. If Sara's fatigue would make her prickly, and how he could encourage her to get more rest without coming across as an overbearing patronizing ass. Whether Nick was more interested in getting his approval than a grown man should be. And how he got whiny when he was tired. How Catherine's love life or lack of same affected her mood and attitude to the work. And whether she would leave a crime scene on a whim if Lindsay called. It really wasn't fair to the other, childless team members, to be expected to fill that void. How Greg sometimes needed to be reminded to quit joking around and focus...all of it. They were all talented investigators but...they were human, and flawed. Sometimes it was an emotional minefield to navigate through a shift. They were all adults-but sometimes acted like a bunch of high schoolers.

A few evenings later Grissom decided to leave his townhouse early and visit Sara before his shift. He called as usual, and grew concerned when it rang 8 times and then went to voice mail. _She usually answers by the third ring...maybe she's in the shower or something_. His mind immediately filled with images of Sara naked and wet, so he recited the families of beetles native to the American Southwest to distract himself on the short drive to her apartment.

She didn't answer his knock at first. He could hear a muffled response that sounded like, "Come in," but the door was locked. Patiently, Grissom knocked again. Finally the deadbolt turned and the door opened. Sara immediately turned away before he stepped inside. She seemed–off. She had a beer bottle dangling from one hand..._she's not supposed to drink while on pain medicine_...and tripped a bit over her own feet before returning to the couch and collapsing on it with a groan.

"Make...self...a' home," Sara slurred. She glanced at him briefly, her eyes glassy.

Grissom stared at her. She was drunk! There were at least 5 empty beer bottles scattered about, and a shot glass and a bottle of vodka in front of her. The place was messier than usual.

"Sara?"

"Mmph?" she peered at him.

"What's going on?"

"I'm drunk."

"I can see that."

"Shit faced. Three sheets to the wind. Blotto. .."

"Why, Sara?"

"Why what?" she said, deliberately playing dumb.

"Why are you drunk?"

"Because. Because I'm a grownup and I can get...if I want," she said petulantly.

Grissom sighed. He crossed the room, slid a crinkled newspaper and an open bag of Doritos out of the way and sat next to her. Sara immediately stood and walked over to the window.

"Maybe you should go." Her voice was low.

"Not until you tell me what's going on." Grissom said insistently.

"This is going to be like that other conversation, isn't it." They both knew what she meant. She sighed, then began to speak, still facing away.

"I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow morning. One day a year, I do this. Drink until I pass out. If I have to work, I make it the day before or the day after, but today, I can drink myself to oblivion."

"Why, today?"

"It's my _anniversary_," she said sarcastically.

"Of what?"

"Of the night my mother...killed my..."

"Oh."

"Yeah. Oh," she said bitterly. "And today...it's been 20 years."

"I'm sorry."

"What for? You never beat the shit out of me. Broke my arm because the coffee was cold. Smacked me in the face and called me names. Or whipped me with your belt until the blood ran into my shoes..." her voice faded out and then returned, deeper. "Twenty years. And not a day goes by that I don't think about it. How do I stop thinking about it, Grissom? Stop picturing my mother, with that knife? And the blood, my father's blood, spraying on the bedroom walls with every stab?"

Grissom stood and went to her, standing close behind her but not touching. Not until she gave him some kind of signal.

"I don't think you...need to forget it, exactly. It's not something you can get over, either, but you...look how far you've come since that day. How you overcame that, everything, trauma that would have broken or twisted a weaker person. You...you're a wonderful person, Sara, honey...What happens to us, good and bad, it makes us what we are. But _who_ we are...we get to decide that."

Sara finally turned and looked in his face. Tears were brimming in her beautiful brown eyes and her lower lip trembled.

"Oh, Sara." Grissom's heart ached at her hurt. He cautiously slid his arms around her. Sara hugged him, tight, and gripped his shirt with her fingers as if to keep him from escaping. She buried her face in his shoulder. She sniffed, loudly, and then was wracked by deep, heartrending sobs. Sara cried. Grissom felt his eyes prickle with tears too. _When was the last time I cried?_ He didn't say anything. Just held her in his big warm arms.

At last she pulled away and tried to wipe her face. Grissom dug out a handkerchief and did instead, his eyes kind.

"Sorry."

"Don't be."

"I got your shirt all wet."

"I have other shirts. But there's only one...you."

Sara gave him a tiny smile. "Thank you."

**TBC**


End file.
